Novels Now

The Elegance of the Hedgehog
Muriel Barbery
325 pages

“They didn’t recognize me,” I repeat. 
He stops, in turn, my hand still on his arm. 
“It is because they have never seen you,” he says. (p. 303)

Renée is a concierge in a posh Paris apartment building. She is a recluse, quietly tending to the needs of her wealthy tenants. They consider her inferior, and she plays up to the stereotype. But behind closed doors, Renée is an intellectual who reads Tolstoy, watches Japanese films, and has in-depth knowledge of art. And unbeknownst to Renée, a kindred spirit resides in her building: Paloma, a 12-year-old girl of extremely high intelligence.      

For most of this novel, Renée and Paloma lead separate lives. Then one day, a new tenant moves in and unwittingly brings them together. And this marks a turning point in the novel. Beginning as an interesting and very well-written character study, The Elegance of the Hedgehog becomes an incredibly emotional work. In very simple and subtle ways Renée, Paloma, and the new tenant Kazuro each exert profound influence on their new friends, taking each other to unprecedented levels emotionally and spiritually. The last two chapters are some of the most moving literature I’ve ever read. 

This is a beautiful book. I loved it. 

The White Tiger
Aravind Adiga
276 pages

See, this country, in its days of greatness, when it was the richest nation on earth, was like a zoo. A clean, well kept, orderly zoo. Everyone in his place, everyone happy. … And then, thanks to all those politicians in Delhi, on the fifteenth of August, 1947 — the day the British left — the cages had been left open; and the animals had attacked and ripped each other apart and jungle law replaced zoo law. Those that were the most ferocious, the hungriest, had eaten everyone else up, and grown big bellies. (p. 53-54)

Balram Halwai lives in “the jungle” that is 21st century India. The book is organized as a lengthy letter from Balram to China’s Premier, shortly before the Premier’s visit to Bangalore. In the letter, written over several days, Balram describes how he left his rural village to work as a driver for the son of the village’s wealthiest man. He landed this position completely by luck, and used it to rise up in Indian servant society, and eventually become an entrepreneur.

But this is no rags-to-riches story. It is instead a sometimes humorous, sometimes scathing account of contemporary Indian society. Adiga vividly describes the stark contrasts between “haves” and “have nots,” and is resigned to this remaining as status quo for years to come:

An Indian revolution? No, sir. It won’t happen. People in this country are still waiting for the war of their freedom to come from somewhere else — from the jungles, from the mountains, from China, from Pakistan. That will never happen. (p. 261)

The White Tiger explores many of the same themes as A Fine Balance, but I found the latter better-written and far more moving. This was an OK read, but disappointing compared to other Booker Prize winners. 

Letter to my Daughter
Maya Angelou
166 pages        

Letter to my Daughter is a book of wisdom, a collection of 28 short works — mostly essays, and a couple of poems. Ms. Angelou doesn’t have a daughter (her only child is a son); this book is dedicated to women all around the world. Angelou plumbs the depths of more than 80 years on the planet to serve up bits of her experience as lessons for her readers. Some of the essays, particularly those pertaining to her younger adult years, concern violence and disrespect towards women. In others, Angelou relates cultural blunders or near misses made during her travels. The embedded lesson is usually not about the gaffe itself, but the personal learning and growth that came from it:

In an unfamiliar culture, it is wise to offer no innovations, no suggestions, or lessons.
The epitome of sophistication is utter simplicity. (p. 91)

In fact, most of her lessons came from mistakes. I admired Angelou’s ability to expose her own vulnerability for the reader’s benefit. My only complaint about this book is that its 166 pages are misleading. Each piece is quite short, usually 2-4 pages. Each essay is padded with additional pages (a cover page, a blank page, etc.), and of course there are obligatory pages about the author, the typeface, and so on. I would have preferred a greater percentage of this book be devoted to Angelou’s words of wisdom. Nevertheless, these essays lend themselves well to periodic re-reading, and this book will remain on my shelves to be dipped into later.

A Mercy
Toni Morrison
167 pages

One afternoon a few months ago, I was sentenced to that purgatory that is a 2-hour drive on the New Jersey Turnpike. But then my spirits were lifted heavenwards by a National Public Radio interview with Toni Morrison. Ms. Morrison discussed her new book, A Mercy, and rewarded her audience with a reading. Sheer bliss. I knew I had to read this book! 

My, oh my, oh my. Morrison packed so much richness into this short novel. The richness is centered around a tiny bit of storyline, in which Florens, a slave girl, is sent on an errand to get help for her seriously ill mistress. But there’s so much more in the stories of each character, told in their own voices: Jacob and Rebekka, the sadly childless European landowners; Florens, who was sold away from her mother to repay a debt; Lina and Sorrow, women who came to the farm via slave ship; Willard and Scully, the white indentured servants; and the blacksmith, a nameless free African who captured Florens’ heart. I found myself enveloped in Morrison’s prose, savoring every word, as with this description of an Atlantic crossing: Women of and for men, in those few moments they were neither. And when finally the lamp died, swaddling them in black, for a long time, oblivious to the footsteps above them, or the lowing behind them, they did not stir. For them, unable to see the sky, time became simply the running sea, unmarked, eternal, and of no matter. (p. 85) 

This is a wonderful, moving, haunting book. Highly recommended. (  )

The Cellist of Sarajevo
Stephen Galloway
235 pages

She knows that twenty-two people died here and a multitude were injured, will not walk or see or touch again. Because they tried to buy bread. A small decision. Nothing to think about. You’re hungry, and come to this place where maybe they will have some bread to buy. … And then some men on the hills send a bomb through the air to kill you. For them, it was probably just one more bomb in a day of many. Not notable all. (p. 82) 

The siege of Sarajevo took place between April 1992 and February 1996, killing approximately 10,000 people. The city was repeatedly shelled, and snipers took up posts in the surrounding hills, firing on unsuspecting victims. Following the May, 1992 bombing of a bakery, a local cellist played Albinoni’s Adagio in G minor (listen here), every day for twenty-two days, in memory of the dead. Each day he would quietly take his place in the street, putting his own life at tremendous risk. The title character of this novel is based on that cellist. Other characters include Arrow, a young woman caught up in the fighting, and sent to protect the cellist from snipers; Dragan, struggling to survive after sending his wife and son to safety in Italy; and Kenan, a young husband and father who routinely traverses the dangerous city streets to get water for his family and an elderly neighbor. None of these characters know each other, but their stories are loosely intertwined around the cellist. 

The real power of this book was in its portrayal of war-torn Sarajevo, and the impact of the struggle for survival on its people. Kenan put himself in grave danger to fetch water, and during his journey across town, he imagined a better time for his family where they will once again be able to visit restaurants and go on long walks eating ice cream. Dragan’s story centered on one particular day where he attempted to cross a street on his way to the bakery. He was paralyzed with fear of the snipers who had set their sights on the street that afternoon. And then there was Arrow, who became involved in the conflict after losing her own family. She also lost both her youth and her happiness. Each character’s life was changed irrevocably: food shortages took a toll on their bodies, and frequent contact with death shattered their spirits. 

Every time I read a book like The Cellist of Sarajevo, I wonder what it is about humankind that makes us do such things to one another. (  )

The Road Home
Rose Tremain
365 pages

Mosquito
Roma Tearne
299 pages

Life in this paradise, he felt, was exactly as the beautiful mosquito that lived here, composed in equal parts of loveliness and deadliness. (p. 284)

Theo Samarajeeva is a successful Sri Lankan writer, who returned from London to his homeland after his wife’s sudden death. He spends long, languorous days in his beach house, grieving, with only his servant Sugi as company. He is frequently visited by Nulani Mendis, a 17-year-old girl whose father was killed in a terrorist incident. Nulani is largely neglected by her mother, who is focused on her son’s path to success through a British university scholarship. Nulani is a highly talented painter. The friendship between Nulani and Theo blossoms and, while he writes, she creates sketches, mostly of Theo. Eventually she paints his portrait. Theo, ostensibly acting as a mentor, takes Nulani to the city of Colombo to meet his artist friend Rohan, and Rohan’s Italian wife Giulia. It’s obvious to everyone but Theo that, despite their 28-year age difference, his relationship with Nulani has become more than just friendship.

However, Sri Lanka is also in the midst of civil war. Just as Theo and Nulani acknowledge their feelings for one another, violence explodes with dramatic impact on all of the characters. At this point Tearne shifts tone and pace, yanking the reader away from lazy seaside days into the suspenseful drama of terrorism, suicide bombings, and torture. Each character’s story unfolds independently, at times heartbreaking and, at others, inspiring. I felt great sadness for the people of Sri Lanka and other countries affected by long-term civil war. But I also felt inspired by the hope and redemption in this beautifully-written debut novel.

Then, staring at the undulating phosphorescent water, he understood at last that freedom was a doubled-edged thing, which, like innocence lost, was unrecoverable. (p. 253)

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The Guernsey Literary and Potato Peel Pie Society
Mary Ann Shaffer
277 pages

In 1946, Juliet Ashton is a London-based writer who has gained some degree of fame writing fictional accounts of wartime under an assumed name. Now, as London begins to rebuild and recover, Juliet is casting about for new material with which to continue her career. Out of the blue, she receives a letter from a man on the Island of Guernsey, who has found himself in possession of a book she sold through a used bookshop. This begins a correspondence between Juliet and Dawsey Hawkins. Through Dawsey’s letters Juliet learns of the formation of The Guernsey Literary and Potato Peel Pie Society, and the set of circumstances which resulted in a collection of islanders meeting regularly to discuss books. She also begins correspondence with several other society members, and becomes fascinated on an intellectual level with the German occupation of Guernsey during the war, and begins to develop emotional ties with the society’s members. Her eventual visit to the island turns out to be a life-changing event.

The novel takes the form of a series of letters: between Juliet and island residents, and with other significant characters such as her publisher, and another long-time friend. The letters, being highly personal, express characters’ thoughts and feelings in a deeper way than a traditional narrative. And various elements of the story are revealed in small bits, so that everything comes together only after reading several letters from different people. I found some aspects of the plot easy to predict, but in no way did this spoil the book for me. The writing style is breezy and full of humor, the characters are folks you could easily imagine and identify with, and the story is touching on many levels. This is a delightful, highly-recommended book. ( )

Unaccustomed Earth
Jhumpa Lahiri
333 pages

Jhumpa Lahiri’s first collection of short stories, Interpreter of Maladies, won the Pulitzer Prize. After writing a full-length novel (The Namesake), Lahiri has returned with a second short story collection. Unaccustomed Earth is comprised of 5 short stories and a novella. And it is absolutely fabulous.

Most of the stories are set in the US, and the Indian immigrant characters are often in relationship with white Americans. Each one had strong emotional impact. The title story was one of the most moving. In it, an Indian widower visits his adult daughter, who lives in Seattle. He chooses not to tell her that he has found a new partner, and she is afraid he plans to move in with her and her young family. The man’s love for his small grandson is very touching; his love for her is demonstrated indirectly through a garden he creates during his visit. Through small day-to-day acts, he shows his daughter a side of him that was not visible while she was growing up.

The novella, Hema and Kaushik, takes place over three separate time periods and follows an Indian immigrant boy and girl from the time they meet as children, through young adulthood, and into middle age. Lahiri is expert at conveying the loss and emptiness deep within each character, and building the reader’s commitment to these characters in a very short number of pages.

I intentionally apprpoached this work one story at a time, reading during my lunch hour and savoring each story over the next 24 hours. When the novella — and the entire book — came to an end, all I could do was take a very deep breath and marvel at Lahiri’s talent. Unaccustomed Earth is the most delicious fiction I have read in a very long time; a must-read.

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